


Cruel Fate

by sadclapz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Tension, aka my brand lol, oh god it's almost 2 am, sex but poetry, when will i stop writing poetic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadclapz/pseuds/sadclapz
Summary: Five years of waiting. Time is cruel fate for lovers. Yet, they revel selfishly in their new paradise, as if fate was all they had left.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Cruel Fate

**Author's Note:**

> so....... I haven't REACHED TIMESKIP YET ON MY FIRST PLAYTHROUGH but I just finished chapter 10. but you can tell I loved lin and caspar so much that I couldn't wait for the damn timeskip to start writing about them. all the comments y'all have been leaving on my other works makes me feel so good, tysm!!! so here's more dumb poetic sex hope you enjoy

Linhardt’s lips are inconceivably softer than their last meeting. Emerald blades between Caspar’s fingers left a scent of fresh morning dew. There is only silence when their mouths part. And leaving that petaled haven proves to be almost as agonizing as the time they spent away from each other. As if Fódlan’s terra ruptured in abrupt chaos, anxious tsunamis and crumbling thunderstorms separating their love. Not even the goddess could men her land quick enough for a timely reunion. The _goodnight_ that slips from their teeth follows with equal pain.

  
Five years. Five years of waiting.

  
After the kiss, Caspar exits twenty-five paces out of Linhardt’s room and into the hallway. He pauses, looks around at the emptiness, and took those same twenty-five paces back. Linhardt stands in the same place, robe off the shoulders and draped at his elbows. Surprised, he attempts to speak, but is interrupted by rushing movements back to his hold his frame. And sealing with another kiss. The force is strong, however welcomed with infatuating return. Caspar holds him close, hoping his body has not forgotten how to piece back with his in perfection. Just as his lips are, forming art between open mouths.

  
Linhardt becomes increasingly concerned once he realizes how improved Caspar has become at kissing. He remembers the few fits of clumsy embraces and clashing enamel in their youth. Who did he practice on for five years? Could ten years go by without him, his kisses reserved for someone else? Twenty and he’d be a dead man. More like an eternal, unrequited carousel.

  
His ferocity grows with intensity, losing his tongue in the other’s mouth. Linhardt sighs, relieved of that restricted tension. It’s an incentive for Caspar, placing legs tight against his waist and placing him onto the unkempt bed. His robe slips off, joining the catastrophe of twisted sheets. Frails hands leave his shoulders to pick at the pearly buttons of his undershirt, yet failing to comply.

  
Caspar apologetically leaves the kiss, mouth moving to his neck. He clearly smells the familiar essence- rain clouded with the perfume of squeezed berries. Intoxicating, basking in the virginal scent sinfully, choking in bliss. With rougher touch, he pulls apart whatever fabric isn’t restricted by buttons, exposing flesh stretching across his collar bones. Blood flushes in neon splotches on his chest with every needy bite; teeth sinking in harder with every gyrate of hips. Hungry, as if they just survived a long famine.

  
The two are already drunk in the boiling poison of passion. However, Linhardt wants nothing more than to hold his once-lost lover with tenderness. Let his kisses palpitate sweetly across his skin (although, palpitations are still reserved to the lower vicinities, and vexing to control). Caspar’s beastly pressure is too much. The mage runs his fingers underneath the jawline, pulling the aching man back to his lips, inviting him with feathery touches.

  
They are a contrast, but that’s what he adores about Linhardt. That even after their separation, a torturous five-year eternity, he would still catch him when he falls. Pull him back from Heaven when his head was spinning amongst the clouds. Drag him out of Hell by the ear lobes when he toys with sin. He brings him back to earth every time- and that was plenty of rivalling temptation and paradise.

  
“Please, undress,” Linhardt begs, exasperating and heart engorged. “I need every bit of you to myself tonight.”

  
And Caspar obediently obliges with eager. The other takes a moment to finish undoing the buttons of his own, but finds it difficult in attempting to also bask in the revealing at the same time. Movement is swift in the rest of undressing. Patience and sweetness is dwindling fast in him.

Caspar’s skin is now completely exposed, along with the buried blemishes of plentiful scars. He sweeps his fingers gently over them. They are deep-seated with stories and the anxiety that the next one mat just be his last. Morbidly healed, rigid discoloration sears like venom on him. If only destiny was not so evil, if only the Goddess favored them over the bleak sickness of lucky lovers. Then, he would have been there to heal his wounds. To keep him warm during the warring winters. To spit back at fate for abusing their starving faithful. Linhardt begins to move his lips along each curved gash and white carving. He holds this power as if he is going to break at any moment. And though he is busy, tending to his wounds, Caspar looks down in worshipping admiration. He would drain the whole sea for one sunlight gaze.

  
He breaks, pulling the other body closer and trickling a hand to the other’s groin. “Caspar, I cannot keep myself at bay any longer.”

  
Giving this man all of Fódlan within two heartbeats is one thing, but assuring he was adequate is another. Muscles tense as he loosens his belt, terribly frightened along with his concupiscent state. Prematurely so eager to engulf this man in his devotion, yet paused by hesitant fear. The final articles of clothing discard, unveiling the fine porcelain of his skin, radiant in the candlelight. Linhardt winces, body trembling under the burning force. Caspar crumbles within the newborn fire, searing against him when he discovers a comfortable pace.

  
And so begins the ribald mantra dripping out of his verdant beloved’s lips. His words are golden, glittering with sunbeams as they are exhaled with desperation. Caspar is creative in his ways to make the other’s mouth tick more; suckling here, kneading there, while rhythm dwindles to chaos. All while his senses unravel in loving grasp.

  
“How divine,” Linhardt melts. “Goddess, how I’ve missed you so. I’ve missed you terribly. I don’t know how I survived without you.”

  
Caspar is terrified to imagine what this night would be like without him. Would he keep fighting the complications of war? Be forced to spend the cold nights in lonely pondering? Too afraid to fathom fabricated answers any longer, he ingrains himself deeper, hoping to memorize every burning touch of his lover. He inches closer to a higher heaven with speeding propulsion. Nails imprint their sting into his shoulder, the other hand fisted in the sheets.

  
He may be silent in comparison, but his thoughts are louder than the lecherous echoing in the room. Screaming _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ words attempting to rip through the disfigured crevices in his brain. Yet, he could not speak them. Maybe he is petrified of inevitable loss. Maybe their unity speaks enough truth through fear. Love does not come without its curiosities.

  
There is no time even for thoughts. Not when senses are crushed to sour pulp. He’s _there_ \- Caspar finally speaks in blasphemous sputters of prayer and sin. A fever bubbles with faint, distant sweetness. The feeling vaccinates in his blood stream, rushing through aching tendons. As if white flutters about in the black absence, his light shivering like a kaleidoscope-glinted diamond around his flesh. Linhardt follows shortly, mimicking similar convulsions. Wrapped tightly in his arms. The place he should have never strayed from.

  
Tufts of razor-cut sky are brushed back. He looks at the heaving face above him, glistening in the memory of his kisses. Eyelids are glazed with their own admiring galaxy. He cups his cheeks, thumbs grazing over the acidified, peachy blush. And he smiles. Smiles like he’s never been touched with such delicate care. In his rare moments of religious praise, Linhardt silently thanks Sothis above for the angelic gift.

  
Five years of waiting. Time is cruel fate for lovers. Yet, they revel selfishly in their new paradise, as if fate was all they had left.


End file.
